


the regulus black chronicles

by aoverlordmidmolt



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Rigel Black Chronicles - murkybluematter
Genre: Gen, Inspired by The Rigel Black Chronicles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 08:02:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29805393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aoverlordmidmolt/pseuds/aoverlordmidmolt
Summary: Regulus Black would do anything for his family. It isn't mutual.
Comments: 13
Kudos: 38





	1. splintering

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to PrettyPinkCupcake for beta-ing! 
> 
> Also, slight warning for dysfunctional sibling relationships and highly questionable parenting.

Regulus Black wished he was better at hating. He was sitting cross-legged in his room, trying futilely to read despite the yelling ringing through the house. Regulus was only fourteen years old, but he knew his life would be easier if he could hate his mother. His mother, who would fly into rages without warning, yelling about ungrateful children who weren’t even worth the trouble she’d gone to to have them, and if only they could be better…

He had tried to be the son his mother wanted, but it had never seemed to be enough. It had certainly not stopped her from cursing Regulus when he was nine. Perhaps that is when his love should’ve turned to hate. When any reasonable person would have begun to hate. His mother had cursed him because Sirius had been sorted into Gryffindor, and he—instead of running from her rage—had tried to defend his brother.

The rage had faded from his mother’s eyes, though, and all that was left were teary regrets and apologies. It hadn’t been her fault. It was just the madness.

His father had looked particularly solemn in the aftermath of that episode. Still, he had just frowned at Regulus and said, “You aren’t to argue with your mother during one of her fits. You’re to go up to your room and lock the door. We’ve talked about this.”

“Yes, Father,” Regulus had replied, chastised.

That year, their father had arranged for their mother to be out of the house when he brought Sirius home from the station for the winter holidays. He shooed them off to their rooms before their mother could return.

Safely ensconced in Sirius’s room, Regulus had given into the impulse to hug him. He wanted to bury his face into his brother’s chest and never come out again.

Sirius had tousled his hair and laughed, saying, “Well, it’s good to see you too, Reggie. I have so much to tell you about Hogwarts! You won’t believe some of the stuff I’ve been up to!”

Sirius told him about being sorted into Gryffindor and his new friends and all the pranks they had played. Regulus had sat there, quietly absorbing all of the details.

Before long, though, their mother’s voice started crashing through the house. He hoped Father would stop her before she could storm into Sirius’s room.

Sirius had laughed, but it was dark sounding, “I’ll bet she was a lot calmer while I was gone, huh?”

“Not really,” Regulus told him, body tense. “She was mad you got sorted into Gryffindor.” Regulus hunched over, “Father won’t let her hurt you, will he? And you’ll stay in your room when she’s mad? I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Reggie.” Regulus liked the feeling of Sirius running his hand through his hair. It was calming. “I know Mother’s yelling can be scary, but she’s never actually hurt us before.”

Regulus curled further in on himself. He should’ve left—it was his fault.

“Reggie,” Sirius said, growing concerned. “Mother hasn’t hurt you, has she?”

“I know I shouldn’t have, okay?” Regulus exclaimed, “But she said such nasty things about you, and—”

“Regulus,” Sirius said, putting his hands on his shoulders so he could force him to meet his eyes. “What did Mother do to you?”

“Some kind of curse,” Regulus whispered. “She said that if I couldn’t even understand how you being sorted into Gryffindor was a betrayal of our family, then I should never have children of my own.”

“What?” Sirius growled. “Are you telling me that Mother cursed you to be unable to have children?”

Regulus shrugged, “I guess so? It was scary, but it didn’t seem to _do_ anything.”

Sirius’s laugh seemed a little hysterical. “And what has Father done?”

Regulus looked up at him. “He hasn’t done anything. Why?”

“Regulus,” Sirius said, face grave, “If I understand correctly, Mother cursed you so that you can never have children, and our father has done nothing about it. That’s… serious.” He didn’t even make a joke about it.

Regulus frowned, “Can magic even do something like that? I mean, couldn’t you just undo it?”

“Maybe?” Sirius offered. “It would depend on the curse, I guess. A healer could maybe do something…” Sirius tried to give him a reassuring smile, “Why don’t you stay here, Reg? I need to talk to Father.”

“But, Mother—”

“I’ll be fine,” Sirius said firmly. He stepped into the hallway and shut the door behind him.

Mother had quietened, but the yelling soon started again, this time between his brother and their father.

Perhaps that had been when Sirius learned to hate.

After that, Sirius had been extra protective of Regulus when he was home. He didn’t need to be, though. Regulus always tried not to disappoint their parents. Sirius no longer seemed to care. He set their mother off at every turn.

Soon Regulus, too, had gone to Hogwarts. He was sorted into Slytherin. His parents were proud. His brother was disappointed. And that, Regulus thought, was when everything began to break.

His mother had a voice that could not be contained. Regulus wondered if it was a natural gift, or the result of practice.

Sirius had missed dinner the past few days—likely hiding at Potter Place—but now their mother had managed to pin him down.

Her words thundered through the house, making it impossible to concentrate on anything else. “Sirius Black! You bring shame on your house! Consorting with muggles! I am ashamed to be your mother! Look at me when I address you, boy—of all the children who could’ve lived—”

There was a pause where Sirius interrupted, in a normal tone that couldn’t be heard through several walls.

The yelling started again, as Mother started down her usual repertoire: why should he have lived when so many more worthy children died, she should’ve disowned him after the shame of his Sorting, and so on, with a few slurs about homosexuality and muggle-lovers thrown in for good measure. Regulus wished he could charm his room to be soundproof—he knew a simple rune scheme that would accomplish just that—but, well. He couldn’t abandon Sirius. If their mother started throwing curses again…

It wasn’t her fault, Regulus told himself. The rages were transient, caused by the madness. Yet—

Sirius was yelling, now, too. His replies blended with their mother’s yelling into a cacophony that resonated through the walls. He only caught the last bit, “—you want me gone so badly, I’ll leave! And I won’t be coming back!”

There were thuds coming from the stairs. Regulus leapt to his feet, heart in his throat. He brushed past his mother standing on the landing (still yelling) and caught a glimpse of Sirius as he disappeared into the entryway. The front door slammed before Regulus made it to the bottom of the stairs, but he still ran after his brother. Sirius would have to make it to the edge of the wards, and he technically didn’t have his apparition license yet, anyway—

Sirius’s idiotic flying muggle contraption roared to life. He was already in the air when Regulus came sprinting out of the house. He didn’t look behind him as he flew away.

Regulus stood outside and stared as his brother vanished behind a row of buildings. Somehow, despite everything, he had not seen this coming. He and Sirius weren’t close—they hadn’t been in years. They never talked at school and their conversations over the summer were stilted—that is, when Sirius was actually around. He supposed his brother would go to Potter Place. When he thought about it, he had lost his brother to James Potter years ago.

***

On September first, Regulus’s father apparated him to King’s Cross. It wasn’t the first time he had made the journey without Sirius, but his mood was rather maudlin as he boarded the train.

He found the compartment that had been claimed by his good (only) friend, Edwyn. He had just finished putting his truck up when Wilkes entered.

“So, Black,” he drawled, “Should we be wishing you congratulations?”

“My birthday was a month ago,” he answered, taking his seat, “You’re a little late.”

Wilkes sneered. “I was speaking of the rumors. Is it true that Lord Black has finally decided to cast off your good-for-nothing, muggle-loving brother?”

“Take care how you speak about my family,” Regulus said dangerously.

Wilkes waved a hand. “He might not be your family much longer.”

“Did you want something, Wilkes?” Regulus was very tempted to curse him.

Wilkes eyed him. “No. I think you told me all I need to know.”

He left before Regulus could say something nasty.

Regulus took a couple of deep breaths, before asking, “Can you tell me what people have been saying about my family?”

“It’s been said that your brother spent the summer at Potter Place, and that he arrived on that flying muggle contraption of his,” Edwyn told him, “They also say he isn’t going back.”

“How on earth would anyone know this?” Regulus asked incredulously.

Edwyn shifted nervously, “Your brother supposedly told Longbottom, plus the rest of his and Potter’s little gang over the summer, and it spread from there.”

Regulus closed his eyes. “Of course he did.”

Edywn eyed him, “It’s all true then?”

“Pretty much.”

“It has also been rumored that Lord Black has disowned him,” Edwyn said lightly.

Regulus shook his head, “No, Father hasn’t disowned Sirius, nor will he. Whatever happens, Sirius remains Heir.”

Edwyn leaned forward, “Lord Riddle won’t be pleased. The Potters are as Light as they come, and if the Black Heir has thrown his lot in with them—”

“Yes, I am aware. But frankly, I don’t see how this is a surprise to anyone.” Regulus was intimately familiar with how little Sirius cared for his family’s beliefs.

Edwyn sat back again and shrugged, “It shouldn’t be, but somehow it still is.”

If only he could mock the sentiment.

***

While Regulus saw Sirius in the Great Hall, he didn’t talk to him until after Halloween. Sirius, in the typical Gryffindor manner, ran after Regulus one morning as he was leaving the Great Hall, shouting “Reggie!”

Edwyn stopped when Regulus did, but Regulus waved him on. Friend, or no, Regulus would prefer that his conversations with Sirius were not overheard. He waited for his brother towards the side of the corridor, where (with any luck) they could speak discreetly.

“Reggie,” Sirius said, having finally caught up. “Thought I’d missed you.”

Regulus wanted to laugh; what an ironic turn of phrase. “What do you want, Sirius?”

“Just to talk, Reggie. Look, I’m sorry I ran off over the summer. But, well, it’s probably for the best,” he sounded bitter, “I was going crazy there, and I’m sure you’ll all be happier with me gone. The perfect little pureblood family…”

Regulus was glad for his impassive mask. “What do you want from me Sirius? Forgiveness? You’ve never cared for the opinion of your family before.”

Sirius’s eyes were pleading. “Come on, Reggie. If Mother hasn’t convinced Father to disinherit me yet, I’m sure she’ll get around to it. You’ll be the heir—you always cared about that sort of thing—and I can be free of all of it. It works out for everyone.”

Sirius was an idiot. A complete idiot and Regulus had never wanted to hit someone more in his life. He looked down; his hands were shaking. He slid them into his sleeves before Sirius could see. He had never even wanted to be the heir—not seriously. The only thing Regulus really wanted was a way to stop the world splintering around him. He said to Sirius, “I will _never_ be the heir and you know damn well why.” Sirius looked stricken. “Excuse me, I have class.” He turned on his heel and left.

***

Sirius cornered him again at the beginning of December, outside the library. Fortunately, Regulus was by himself this time.

“Look Reg, I’m sorry,” Sirius began without preamble, “I didn’t realize. But—”

“But what?”

“I… I just can’t stay there anymore. Not with Mother the way she is.”

“So, I suppose you’ll spend Christmas at the Potters’ then?” Regulus asked bitterly.

“Reggie don’t be like this,” Sirius pleaded.

“Like what? Like what, Sirius? Do you want to pretend like I’m okay with you renouncing our family?”

“I just need some space, Reggie. To be away from our parents for a while.”

“Oh, does that mean you’re going to come back, then?”

Sirius’s face was answer enough.

“Forget it,” Regulus said. He walked away, quickly.

“Reg, wait!” Sirius called. He ignored it. The only thing his brother wanted from him was a way to assuage his guilt over leaving. Sirius wanted Regulus to tell him that he was fine, that it was fine. It wasn’t. It wasn’t fine.

He wasn’t going to cry, he told himself. His brother _would not_ drive him to tears.

***

Grimmauld Place had never been particularly festive. When he and Sirius were younger, they tried—running around the house hanging wreaths and garlands. Their mother was never in a good mood around the holidays—it brought up bad memories for her—but their father would cast the charms they requested, an indulgent smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

It hadn’t been like that in years. Last year he had woken on Christmas Day to a screaming match between Sirius and their mother. He had had to pull Sirius out of the sitting room when Mother started firing curses (thankfully, they primarily seemed to be aimed at the furniture). As soon as Sirius had been dragged from the argument he hadn’t the sense to leave himself, he vanished through the Floo (Potter Place) and didn’t come back for another three days.

So, perhaps the only difference this year was that there would be a little less yelling with the same result. It still hurt.

His father picked him up from the station. Regulus tried not to notice Sirius laughing with James Potter across the platform. Sirius used to laugh like that around him—pulling him out of bed on Christmas morning, running down the stairs, or how he’d dash into his room when there were guests over, having set a prank on someone he definitely should not have. It had been years, though. Now Sirius only laughed like that around Potter and his cronies. Regulus looked away.

His father apparated them into the front yard.

“I understand that you’ve been invited to the S.O.W. Gala this year?” he said, walking to the front door.

“Yes, Father,” he answered. He had been specially invited; it was an honor, especially for someone so young. “Surely you have been, too.”

“Yes, of course. Your mother and I will not be going, however.”

Regulus frowned. “May I ask why not?” His parents had raised him to be conscious of his rank, and of the duty he owed to his family and the preservation of their legacy. He knew they supported the S.O.W. Party. It would keep their heritage from being degraded, infringed upon by those who had yet to understand it. The only people who didn’t support it were the obnoxious members of Dumbledore’s faction.

His father sighed. “I might believe in the message of the S.O.W. Party, and hope for their success, but,” he paused, shutting the front door behind them, before turning to look at Regulus. “My school years overlapped with that of Riddle. Just—be careful, my son.”

Lord Riddle was something of a mysterious figure. He was rumored to be incredibly powerful, and even the descendant of the Slytherin line. Half of Slytherin House was in awe of him. He asked, reluctantly, “Should I not go?”

“No, go. The S.O.W. Party, like you, is our future. Go, and represent your family well.”

Regulus swallowed. The expectation settled on his shoulders like a weight. “I will, Father.”

His father nodded in acknowledgement, clasped him briefly on the shoulder, then left him alone in the entranceway.

Regulus trudged up the stairs to his room. He had spent over a month at Grimmauld Place alone with his parents and the house elves during the previous summer, but somehow his home had never felt more hollow. It was quiet now. It might have been peaceful, if it weren’t so empty.

Christmas Day came and went. His father had gotten him some of the more esoteric volumes on Runes and Warding that weren’t in the Black library. Edwyn sent him a book on goblin runes. They had a frigid family dinner and went on with their lives.

Soon, it was New Year’s Eve and he was dressing for the S.O.W. Party Gala. He fidgeted over his dress robes longer than was appropriate before it finally became late enough for him to leave. He Flooed to Malfoy Manor.

Lord Malfoy greeted him cordially, and Lucius directed him to where a few of the other Slytherins were standing.

“Black,” Avery greeted him.

“Avery,” he nodded back. He turned to the other members of the group, “Carrow, Yaxley. Hello.”

“Wasn’t sure you’d come,” Yaxley commented. “I heard your parents weren’t.”

Regulus nodded, “Yes, my parents decided not to come, but my father thought it appropriate that I attend.”

“And you?” Avery asked slyly.

Regulus raised one of his eyebrows. It was a favored expression of his, intended to convey his patent disbelief that this was something that needed to be spelled out in words. “I, of course,” he said carefully, “am honored to attend such a pleasant party.”

Avery sneered at him.

The conversation then turned to other topics. Regulus didn’t truly participate. These weren’t his friends—they were all older, and he was just the annoying younger hanger-on.

The greeting line wound down, and the music started. Regulus left to get some punch.

As he moved away from the refreshment table Lucius approached him. “Lord Riddle would like to speak with you,” he said.

Regulus’s grip tightened on his glass, but he tried to keep his expression from betraying his nervousness. “Of course,” he said.

Lucius eyed him. “Come with me.”

He led him to the edge of the room where Lord Riddle was holding court.

When he saw them approach, he excused himself from the knot of his followers.

“Lord Riddle,” Lucius introduced him, “This is Regulus Black.”

“Mr. Black,” Riddle said, with an indecipherable smile. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Regulus bowed. “It is an honor.”

“Come,” Riddle said, “Why don’t you take a walk with me through the gardens.”

Regulus nodded his agreement, even though he knew he should speak. Riddle noticed. His smile grew.

“Come,” he said again and led Regulus out a side door into the gardens. It was full dark outside, but flickering orbs and candles lined the walkway and warming charms kept the air pleasant and balmy. The effect was beautiful, though Regulus questioned the choice to do it at all, since no one would likely be in the gardens, anyway.

“So,” Riddle said, “I have heard that you are interested in joining the S.O.W. Party.”

“Yes, Lord Riddle, I am.” Regulus said this with more confidence than he felt.

“Why?”

Regulus frowned. “I believe in what you are trying to accomplish. Our family legacies, our traditions must be preserved. If we lose that which ties us to our past, then what is left?”

“What, indeed,” Riddle paused. “I have also heard, Mr. Black, that your brother is embracing Dumbledore and the Light.” Riddle searched his face.

“I do not know if he has declared himself formally,” Regulus answered honestly. “But I would not be surprised. Sirius has never cared for Dark politics.”

“You must understand my concern,” Riddle said silkily, “At the possibility of the House of Black one day turning Light.”

“Of course,” Regulus said. He tried to think of something he could add, but he doubted anything he had to say would be something Lord Riddle wanted to hear.

“That is all you have to say on the subject?” Riddle asked, his voice harboring a dangerous edge.

“Lord Riddle, I do not have the influence to sway my brother’s political alignment. If that is why you have invited me here tonight, I am afraid you will be disappointed.”

Riddle’s smile turned deadly. His father’s hesitance suddenly made sense; Regulus could feel the weight of Riddle's magic in the air. “Your father, surely, would not want his House to be shamed in such a way. Sirius Black is an embarrassment to your family.”

“My father will not disinherit Sirius,” Regulus said, somewhat surprised at his own boldness.

Riddle tempered his expression a little, clearly deciding there was nothing more to be gained from the conversation. “Well, Mr. Black,” he said, “I must welcome you to the S.O.W. Party. Do endeavor to be more useful in the future.” With that warning—threat?—Lord Riddle stalked off. Regulus watched him go.

Regulus did not return to the party immediately. He had been given membership in the S.O.W Party, something he would’ve sworn he wanted just a week ago. Yet—why did everything have to be about Sirius? Lord Riddle was formidable. He was magically powerful. He made things happen, carried with him so much potential. Regulus was sure Lord Riddle would halt the decline of pureblood society, and Regulus wanted to be a part of that. So, why did he feel Lord Riddle’s only use for him was as a means of controlling his brother?


	2. the break

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About Sirius and Regulus's ages:
> 
> In HP canon, Regulus is a year behind Sirius in school. Sirius's birthday is in November, with Regulus presumably being somewhere between 1 to 2 years younger.
> 
> In RBC canon, Sirius's birthday is in the summer. This means that if Regulus was a year behind, he could be at most a year younger then Sirius. Instead, I have made him 2 years younger here, and so he is two years behind in school.

Regulus was halfway through the walk back from Slytherin’s first quidditch practice after the winter holidays when Sirius came up behind him.

“Hello, brother mine,” Sirius said, likely enjoying the startled jump Regulus wasn’t quick enough to conceal. Regulus paused. All of his teammates had been ahead of him, but he wanted to make sure they were completely out of earshot before engaging his brother.

When it was safe, Regulus asked, annoyed, “What do you want?” It had been a long practice. He had mud in his hair and was cold and tired and sore.

“I got you a Christmas present?” Sirius said, handing him a wrapped package.

Regulus stared at it. “And you couldn’t just mail it like a regular person?” He started walking again. Sirius kept pace beside him.

Sirius affected a hurt expression, “What, and deprive you of an opportunity to see my pretty face?”

Regulus eyed him. “I hadn’t realized the delusions had gotten this bad, Sirius.”

Sirius gave him an exaggerated, loopy grin, “Aw, Reggie. I missed you.”

Regulus knew underneath the humor, he meant it. He didn’t point out that if Sirius had missed him that much, he could’ve just come home. “You know where to find me,” he said instead.

Sirius stopped walking. “Actually, Reggie, can I talk to you about something?”

Regulus bit down the instinctive caustic remark. Instead, he said neutrally, “Go ahead.”

“I,” Sirius looked a bit uncertain, “I heard you had joined the S.O.W. Party.”

“I did.”

Sirius nodded, slowly, and turned to start walking again before turning back suddenly. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

Regulus took a breath. Calmly, he told him, “I’m not an idiot, Sirius.”

“It’s just,” Sirius continued, almost as if Regulus hadn’t spoken, “You’re fifteen, Regulus. You have two more years of school. Why are you rushing into this?”

“I’m not rushing,” Regulus said, frustrated. “I know perfectly well what I am doing. Just because you don’t care for politics doesn’t mean everyone feels the same way.”  
  


“That’s just it, Reggie!” Sirius exclaimed, throwing up his hands dramatically. “Since when have you cared about politics?”

Regulus stared. “What the hell do you mean?”

“I know you, Reggie,” Sirius said, eyes earnest. “This isn’t like you. You don’t hate muggleborns, or half-bloods, or anyone else! Why are you supporting a party founded on pureblood supremacy?”

“What?” Regulus sneered. “You’d rather I support a bunch of Light supremacists who seem to be trying their hardest to erode our very history?”

Sirius waved his hands around a bit more, “Don’t support anybody! Why do you need to be involved in politics, anyway?”

“This is important to me, Sirius.” Regulus’s voice, to his dismay, contained a note of pleading. “This is about preserving our cultural legacies, our family histories—”

“Who gives a damn about our family history?” Sirius near-yelled.

“I do!” Regulus shouted back. “Have you not been listening?”

“Reggie,” Sirius begged, eyes glimmering, “Don’t do this out of some misguided loyalty to our parents, or our family name. You’re better than this!”

Regulus shivered from the wind’s chill. “I am, am I?” he snarled, wrapping his arms around himself. “Perhaps I should be more like you. Running away from duty and expectations—just because running away is easier! Pretending righteousness, because what—you don’t care about anything? Tell me, Sirius. Is that how I should be better?”

Sirius stumbled backwards. His tone turned fierce. “I left because I couldn’t spend another day in a house with parents that hate me! And I shouldn’t have to! I shouldn’t have to put up with them out of some cold feeling of obligation. They’re terrible people!”

“They’re our parents! Mother is ill! You would just abandon her—abandon them—because they don’t live up to some ideal you have of the perfect family?”

Sirius stepped closer. “Regulus,” he growled, “Our family is so far from perfect—” he cut himself off. After a moment he continued, “Yes, okay, yes. I was dying there. I was dying, and I couldn’t stand it anymore. So, yes. I left; I abandoned the family. I care more for my freedom than I do for my parents. Is that what you want me to say? I don’t give a damn about our family legacy—about any of it. It is nothing more than a cage, and—”

“I get it, Sirius. You’re selfish. Do whatever the hell you want, but don’t come up to me like I am the guilty one.”

“Reggie—” Sirius sighed, ran his hands through his hair. “You could leave, too. There is so much more, if only you could just see—”

“Unlike you, I don’t betray the people I care about.” Regulus’s voice was positively frigid.

“Is that what you think I’ve done, Reggie?” Sirius snapped. “Betrayed you?”

“Feels pretty accurate to me,” Regulus said, the words like poison. He knew what he was doing, but he couldn’t stop. It was too much of a relief to say it out loud, to release all of his bitter, venomous thoughts into the night air.

Sirius’s chin had a stubborn set to it. His words were not raw, or angry, or earnest. “If I’m such a traitor,” he said, voice full of steel, “It’s a wonder you bother speaking to me all. Have fun with all your blood-crazed fanatics. Come find me when you see sense.”

He took off towards the castle at a rapid clip. Regulus watched him go, cold snaking its way into his bones.

***

It wasn’t until after Regulus had showered and changed that he decided to open the present. Everyone else had left for dinner. Regulus wasn’t hungry.

He sat on the edge of his bed and slowly removed the paper. It was a wand holster, and a nice one. It was black leather, and slender, meant to be strapped to his forearm. The catch-release spell was engraved in runes on the side, making it so that with a flick of his fingers or a puff of magic, the wand would slide into his hand. It was something Regulus might’ve picked out for himself, not something gaudy or overblown like his brother favored. Suddenly overcome, Regulus hurled it at the wall. It bounced off, unharmed, and sat innocently staring up at him from the floor. He sighed and walked over to pick it up.

Regulus wondered where Sirius got the money—it certainly hadn’t come from their parents. It was probably Potter’s money, he told himself. It didn’t mean anything.

The present he had gotten Sirius, but never sent, mocked him from its place at the bottom of his trunk. He hadn’t wanted to get Sirius a present; Sirius had left. On the other hand, he hadn’t wanted Sirius’s only gifts to come from the Potters’. In the end, he had gone ahead with the notes he had previously written. It was nothing special, just a small, plain wooden box, containing five flattish stones that had been painstakingly carved with a series of runes. At the bottom of the box was a compass, to identify cardinal points. One stone would need to be put at each cardinal point, with the last in the array's center.

It was a portable runic privacy ward, with layered redirection and concealment elements. Once cast, it would conceal any person inside from sight and redirect anyone who tried to approach.

Portable wards were not generally possible. Runes typically needed to be written in magic, not just materials. So, each time a ward was set up, someone would have to trace the runes out again, negating the point of doing it ahead of time. Regulus had gotten around this by creating a layered ward where the center stone constantly anchored the array and activated the concealment aspect only when it was set up.

The main issue there had been the vast quantities of magic that would be used to keep the array running. Regulus had created the runes to be as efficient as possible, though, and he had already poured in several times the worth of his core. It would run out in two years or so, but more magic could always be added. It was an inelegant solution, but Regulus hardly intended for it to be the final version of the concept.

He couldn’t think of a single reason making such a thing for Sirius would be a good idea. He had anyway. He just couldn’t bring himself to send it. He hadn’t wanted Sirius to think it was an apology.

Perhaps Sirius’s gift had been an apology, of sorts. He traced the stitching with a finger. It softened the edges of his anger, a little (or was that his pride?). The only problem was it hadn’t been meant for him. Sirius had made the break between them clear. His brother had approached him because he hadn’t yet realized that Regulus wasn’t the person he was looking for. Not anymore. Sirius wanted that other Regulus, the softer, kinder version of himself he had been when he was younger.

The truth was this: Regulus had no intention of leaving his home. He had a duty to his parents; he also loved them. It wasn’t an easy sort of love, but it bound him to them. He loved Grimmauld Place, too. It could be dark and dreary sometimes, but the walls carried with them some portal into the past. As a child, he’d run his fingers along them, imagining the generations of Blacks who had lived in the house. Sometimes he’d wondered what their ancestral manor had been like, before it was lost. How much had those walls absorbed, only to be abandoned and forgotten?

This was the true difference between muggleborns and purebloods. Yes, there were differences in their magic, but magic could be taught. ~~(Hogwarts had taught muggleborns, once)~~.

No, the true difference between muggleborns and purebloods was that for where purebloods had history—legacies and traditions, accumulated knowledge and wisdom—muggleborns only had a hole. Regulus sometimes wondered if they felt the absence of it. How much did they know about their muggle ancestors? Did they celebrate their newfound gifts or feel cast adrift without familial knowledge to fall back on? Did the absence of their histories hurt in the same way that the loss of the Black ancestral manner hurt Regulus—except, perhaps, magnified a thousand-fold?

And his brother wanted to give it up? Throw it away like so much rubbish?

Here was the rub: Regulus would never have children. He wanted to protect and preserve his connections to the past, but he would never have anyone to whom he could pass it on. Sirius would have a child (maybe even children) someday, but would he teach that child their history? Regulus suspected not.

It hurt, Regulus mused, just as much to be cut off from the future as he did from the past. He would have to mourn the possibilities his mother had murdered another time, though. Currently, there was a resentment of another kind churning in his gut. Questions flitted through his head: How did Sirius fail to realize how important the family was to him? Was he expecting Regulus to be like him? ~~(Why did Sirius get to leave, while Regulus stayed and shouldered a double weight of expectations and responsibilities?)~~

If Sirius cared so little for his family, if he had stopped loving their parents because of their flaws, if he had come looking for some nicer ( _better_ ) version of Regulus today, what was to stop him from cutting out Regulus the same way he had their parents? What was to say Sirius hadn’t already decided to cut his losses?

Regulus knew he was resentful. He had harbored a grudge for over six months after all, and he still couldn’t let it go. He had released all of the bitterness from the dark places of his soul and practically reveled in the hurts he had caused his brother. Regulus had wanted Sirius to feel the same pain he had. He might have been kind ( _soft_ ) once, but he wasn’t that child anymore.

If Sirius only wanted, only loved that version of Regulus…

Well, Regulus had always needed Sirius more than Sirius needed him.

***

Regulus didn’t speak to Sirius for the rest of term. He told himself that they both needed time to cool off. He thought about trying to apologize for some of the things he had said, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. There was still some dark part of him that was angry, that thought he shouldn’t have to be the one to approach Sirius at all (What did it matter if Regulus had joined the S.O.W. party? _He_ hadn’t run away). The rest of him was just scared (Regulus, it turned out, was a _coward_ ). He wouldn’t talk to his brother because he was too afraid Sirius would throw his efforts back in his face.

Sirius didn’t approach him again, either. Regulus half-hoped, half-dreaded the possibility, but it didn’t happen. Perhaps Sirius was done reaching out. Maybe, Regulus thought, it was on him to initiate a conversation. ~~Perhaps Sirius was just done with Regulus entirely~~.

He couldn’t do it. Surely, it was better to have something hanging between them than to have any possibility for a relationship severed?

Regulus even believed it, until May came, and OWLs and NEWTs were taken and finished, and…

Sirius graduated; he left Hogwarts and was never coming back. Regulus’s time was up.

He went back to Grimmauld Place full of despair.

The summer dragged on. Edwyn was in Canada visiting family (Edwyn’s uncle had married a muggleborn and subsequently left the country). Regulus’s father was busy but offered to show him the house wards and their ward diagrams.

That, along with his summer homework and some extra rune problems from Professor Babbling, promised to keep him busy for about… three weeks.

For all that he liked the challenge of Runes, it didn’t take even that long for Regulus to get restless. He grew weary of sitting alone in his room. The walls felt like they were falling on him. He just _had_ to get out. ~~(Is this what Sirius had felt?)~~

He wandered around Diagon Alley somedays, mostly browsing through the bookshops. Other days Regulus went down to the kitchen while Kreacher cooked and told him about the latest Rune scheme he was working on.

Sometimes, he would ask Kreacher about house-elf magic. He had always known that the elves could apparate through the wards, but he had never questioned it before. Now he wanted to see how the magic worked.

Kreacher was not, perhaps, the best at explaining. His descriptions were peppered with phrases like “Elves just be knowing this, Master Regulus,” and “We can because we are needing to,” which were hardly academically rigorous responses. Regulus supposed he could ask Ili, the older elf who was usually tasked with taking care of his Mother, but Ili wouldn’t have approved of him wanting to know about elf magic in the first place.

Kreacher, at least, was willing to humor him, and soon Regulus had set up a ward around the kitchen to make magic appear visible. Watching even Kreacher’s levitation charms was fascinating. The shape was _completely_ different. (Regulus had cast his own to compare).

Asking Kreacher to apparate under the ward didn’t produce the result Regulus wanted. The house wards encompassed the ward he had set, not the other way around, so he couldn’t see the interactions.

This led to Regulus trying to find an unwarded place to cast an anti-apparition ward surrounded by the magic-visibility ward. Aside from going to seek out some public stretch of Diagon, however, or some abandoned patch of woods, Regulus didn’t have any ideas. Eventually, he gave up and tried to determine if he could create nested anti-apparition wards and if this would affect his results.

By mid-July, he was setting up co-centric arrays in the middle of the kitchen. Kreacher apparated out of the anti-apparition wards to the other side of the kitchen.

The magic didn’t interact _at all_. Kreacher’s apparition didn’t register as apparition. It was _fascinating_.

Regulus tried this again under all different sorts of wards (anti-portkey, magic-concealing, physical barriers, and even blood wards). It didn’t matter; house-elf magic just didn’t register.

Regulus’s background in magical theory was perfectly passable (his OWL results came back with an O), but it wasn’t anywhere close to where he was in runes or warding.

He wanted to find or create a way to define house-elf magic in runic arrays, but first, he’d have to understand how it worked. (How did one go about inventing new runes?). Regulus needed to do more research.

Regulus spent the better part of a week wandering through bookstores and searching the Black Library. It turned out there was precisely nothing written about house-elf magic. If there had been wizards or witches that had studied this before, Regulus could not find evidence of it.

And how could this not be something someone had studied before? Regulus didn’t particularly _want_ to prevent Kreacher and Ili from apparating in and out of the house, but he still ought to be able to find a rune scheme to do it.

It seemed he would need to learn a lot more magic theory.


End file.
